Not Talking About It
by wregular
Summary: Sylvia and Wander won't stop wandering. But will it last forever? Sylvia wants to know why Wander's so reluctant to settle down, and she thinks she knows where to start looking. Getting there, though, isn't quite as easy as she thought. As for Wander, he's eager to keep moving, keep exploring, and above all to keep helping people out. Will he ever find what he's looking for?
1. Chapter 1

"There it is!" boomed Sylvia triumphantly, as the sparks from her flint finally set the campfire ablaze. As she settled down on the log next to Wander she sighed with contentment. This, as always, was the best part of the day. She was known as a fighter, an explorer, a bodyguard extraordinaire... but there was a greater part of her, and that was a friend.

Watching the fire dance with her best friend, then, was what she really strived for. All the battles, all the journeys... it was so she could sit at the end of a long day and simply relax with those she trusted.

She wanted more of this, she thought. More time to relax. Maybe not forever - she knew she had the nomad's instinct inside of her, and that it would always be there. A little while, though... somewhere to stay. Somewhere to call home. Somewhere to call home... but it would only be home with Wander.

And that, of course, was the hard part.

* * *

"Ahh," she said, nestling into place. "Now we're cookin'." Wander, indeed, was roasting some fish over the open flame, and they ate the smoky delicacies together. Only the chewing of the delicious fish - one for Wander, five for Sylvia - and their occasional sips from their flasks were heard alongside the crackling and rustling of the fire before them.

Sylvia never liked to sit too close to the fire for too long. After her meal, she flopped down on the other side of the log, leaning back against it, her arms supporting her head. Wander, despite his fur, always remained closer to the flame, his thin frame absorbing as much heat as he could gather ahead of the cold night to come.

"Those were some mighty fine eatin's, Syl," said Wander. "Thanks for catchin' em."

"Hey, chef, you did all the hard work," replied Sylvia. "I'd give that five out of five in an online review for sure."

"Aw, shucks!" chuckled Wander. "It's just roastin' 'em on a stick, is all. Well, anyhoo, I think it's time to hit the ol' hay. We got another long day of wanderin' ahead of us tomorrow."

Sylvia wasn't ready to go to sleep yet. They'd only just eaten. She wanted to stay up for a while, to watch the stars and the moons and maybe even the occasional meteor do their celestial dance. And she wanted to ask Wander something.

"Before that," she said, interrupting the star nomad as he slid into his hat, "I want... it's like... look, where are we going, Wander?"

He cocked an eyebrow and then giggled. "Why, same place as always, Sylvia. Wherever the winds may take us!" He looked away, over the darkening horizon, and continued: "Wherever there's a bingleborp in need, we'll be there. Wherever a bar fight needs to be settled, we'll be there. Wherever food remains un-fought in the food court, we'll be there. Wherever..."

"I get that, Wander," she said. "But you know this has been buggin' me for a while. You know I love travelin' with you an' all, but... maybe it'd be nice to" - she inhaled sharply before continuing - "settle down somewhere. Just for a little while! Not forever! Because... I'm tired. And you never did tell me what we're even looking for."

A brief pause. "Well, Syl, maybe one day," he replied. "But tomorrow, let's keep on movin'. See what we can find. Maybe we _will_ find a place to settle. Who knows?"

"Will we ever, Wander? I mean... why can you never stay in one place? Is there somewhere you... you're trying to get away from?"

"Syl! I love lots of places."

"That's not what I asked."

Wander was silent. That wasn't like him.

Sylvia tilted her head back and saw him staring into the campfire, brow furrowed, fists balled, his hat by his side. In alarm, she hopped over the log and sat back down next to him.

"Are we really looking for adventure, Wander? Or are you running from something? You can tell me. Tell me!"

And for the first time since they'd met all that time ago, Sylvia was scared as Wander gave his reply in the deepest, most sincere, most _hostile_ voice she'd ever heard from him.

"I _don't_ want to talk about it."

With that said, he settled into his hat, turned away from the fire, and began to snore. Within seconds he was gently smacking his lips and smiling happily in his sleep, little murmurs of contentment and amusement and astonishment issuing from the mouth that just moments prior had betrayed such paradoxical anger.

Sylvia put out the fire. The smoke was getting in her eyes, she told herself, as she dabbed them dry.


	2. Chapter 2

Sylvia was the second to wake: she was always the second to wake. Today, though, she was even more second-to-wake than normal. It'd taken her far too long to fall asleep last night, her restless tossing-and-turning lasting almost right through until dawn. For one thing, she was still upset about her quote-unquote fight with Wander; for another, she simply missed the warm, furry sensation of his sleeping on her back having him asleep on her back.

If his sleeping alone was in any way an act of passive-aggression, though, it didn't show that morning. As Sylvia blearily stumbled to her feet, a little orange face soon appeared in her field of vision.

"Mornin', sleepyhead!" shouted Wander in his sing-song voice. "Guess who made _breaaaaak-faaaaaast?!_"

_It's too early to be so happy,_ thought Sylvia to herself, but decided against saying anything. She knew in a few minutes his infectious enthusiasm would rub off on her. But not before a steaming mug of coffee – something Wander was always good for – was placed in front of her.

"Smells great, Wander… just pour me a cup and dish me a bowl."

"Order up!" he said, handing her a hot coffee and some oatmeal. She began to take her breakfast as Wander sat and watched her, wide-eyed and smiling. At first it was a little disconcerting, to have someone's eyes trained on her while she ate, but, well, one got used to it.

"Almost time to hit the road again, Syl," said Wander as he packed up the cooking supplies. She was used to that, too – not having a leisurely breakfast. In fact, the second she was finished her food, Wander whipped away the bowl, washed it with canteen water, then threw it in the bag. He then waited pseudo-patiently until her last slurp of coffee and did the same with the cup.

"Here we go!" he said, and off he wandered to the East. Sylvia sighed, smiled a wry smile, and walked alongside.

This was, she had to admit, a good part of the day.

Better than all the walking…

* * *

Their travels tended to start the same way, too. They'd walk side-by-side, silently, starting at a leisurely pace. Wander would let his breakfast settle, and Sylvia would warm up those travel-worn legs in preparation for later.

Eventually, Sylvia would break the silence.

"So… any plans for today, Wander?"

"Well, Sylvia," he said, scratching his chin and squinting with concentration. "I figured… today I'd let you pick where we go."

"Oh, you're going to_ let_ me?" she said, smiling down at him. She put on a medieval-sounding voice. "How very noble of thee, my liege," and laughed.

Wander chuckled. "Aw, you know what I mean, Syl. What I'm sayin' is, I ain't got no plans. So, was there anywhere you wanted to go? Then we'll do that!"

She thought back to last night. _Why does it have to always be about going somewhere?_ What she wanted was a little break – just somewhere they could watch the sunset, watch it rise again, and then, well, go about their day. Somewhere they weren't running from a pack of Watchdogs or a thrust of Fist Fighters, or a sulking skeleton or a preening shark. Just… relaxing.

She'd been thinking about it. She'd been thinking about a lot of things, in fact – the one bonus to being unable to sleep.

* * *

Only once before had she remembered Wander being so reluctant to share, and so angry in his response. That was when they were looking through a map of the galaxy. They'd spent most of that evening marvelling at the vast array of planets they could visit, many of which they hadn't even heard of, much less visited. So much to see, so much to do.

They'd point out planets to each other in the dim glow of the campfire that night, the deep cerulean and hot pinks and verdant greens all the more exciting as the flames lit the page. Sylvia told tales of vast, furry beasts who made the Baa-hallans look like Bingleborps. Wander shared a story about scaly lizards with eyes for teeth and teeth for eyes.

Then they found planets neither of them had heard of, speculating what they might find there. Talking ladders? Fish that caught bears? They laughed as they came up with ever more outlandish suggestions. They passed hours like this, until Sylvia pointed out a rather innocuous-looking, sandy planet somewhere in the further reaches of the system.

She asked him, "How about this place? What are those green chimey things? Any idea? Ha! I bet they're giant cigars for tiny elves!"

"Nope. Never heard of that one. Well, Syl, it's getting' late, so…" He unceremoniously rolled up the map.

"Wander? It's not that late. And I thought we were having fun!"

He focused his energy on stuffing the map into her packs.

"It sure was fun, big blue, but we got a long day ahead of us tomorrow. Goodnight."

"But-"

"**Goodnight.**"

The force in his voice stunned her – just as it was to do again much later, in eerily similar circumstances.

But Sylvia was, she had to admit, pretty tired, and she joined him in sleeping. But not before she surreptitiously dug out the map and found the name of that planet.

_Dorien_ (pop. 80,000)

_Why did that planet kill the mood for him?_ she asked herself, as sleep took over.

* * *

What if…

What if that was what Wander was running from?

She had to go there. She had to find out. Maybe it was nothing – _probably_ it was nothing – but she simply had to know, because last night had affected her in a way she couldn't fully explain, even to herself.

She wasn't lying. Not technically. She _did_ want to go there - that was true. Technically. And if Wander was OK with it, well, no harm done, right?

"You've been real quiet, Syl. Breakfast not sittin' too good? Do you need to use the bathroom? Coz I can wait! We got magazines…"

"No! No, I'm fine, Wander. I was just thinking of places we could go. Have you ever been to… "She knew she'd never agree to it if she just straight-up asked him, so she racked her brains to remember a nearby planet. "… to, uh, _hey!_ To Trotsmoore! It's a Zbornak outpost in the eastern reaches, and I have a buddy out there I've been meaning to see." This wasn't technically a planet – rather it was a space station. But that gave the advantage of being close to Dorien, but without Wander knowing about it.

"More folks like you?! Well, Sylvia, I don't know," he smiled devilishly. "You're about as much zbornak as a fella can handle. But… sure! Why the heck not?!" He hadn't even flinched at the mention of the eastern sector. Maybe it hadn't occurred to him. Or maybe it was all in Sylvia's head. Either way, she was going to find out soon.

"Why the heck not indeed, good buddy!" she said, picking him up and setting him on her back. "You're going to love it there. Let's find a town, grab some supplies, and jump a ship to the east!"

"Yeehaw!" he yelled, with genuine enthusiasm.

Sylvia smiled as she galloped to town. Wander was happy to be back on the road, she told herself. So, she wasn't doing anything wrong. Just… seeing where the road would take them. Wandering. And if that led somewhere he didn't want to go, well, she'd cross that bridge when they came to it.


	3. Chapter 3

The ride to Shuttle Pointe was quick and filled with smiles. Sylvia didn't have much to say for herself, her breath spent on carrying Wander and their supplies. But the star nomad himself was a constant source of joyful enthusiasm. That didn't stop as they arrived at their destination.

"Well, would you look at that?"

Wander was, to put it mildly, easily excited, but even Sylvia had to admit that this was one impressive town. The architecture wasn't especially amazing: it was mainly the kind of soot-stained, down-at-heel, falling-apart places you find in any town where people are generally passing through. But the people! Every species they'd encountered, and several more they hadn't, walked the streets with purpose.

Wander didn't know where to look. Vast, purple slimers bartered over spare parts with six tiny winged beasts standing on each others' heads. Two Bingleborps sang a mournful duet for spare change. An ornery bartender with a banana for a body tossed a Fist Fighter through a saloon door. The noise, the crowds. It would be overwhelming to most – but not to Wander.

Sylvia knew that such scenes were like catnip to the star nomad. So many people, so many stories, so many souls to help. She admired him for that. It was what had brought them together in the first place, in fact, although since then she'd done more than enough helping to pay back any perceived debt – not that he'd ever call it in in the first place. No, they stuck together because they were kindred spirits.

That's not to say, of course, that they agreed on everything.

"Alright, Wander," said Sylvia with purpose. "There's a market at the end of the street, so we'll get essentials there, then head to the ship depot, so, if you'll just climb back on… Wander? Wander?"

She sighed, inhaled, then bellowed again: "WAAAANDEEEEEEER!"

Even on a street as hectic and noise-filled as this one, the sound of a zbornak emptying her lungs was enough to draw attention. Attention, at least, from a bunch of strangers, none of whom was Wander.

_Here we go again,_ she thought, as she trudged through the crowds to see where he'd gotten off to this time.

* * *

"That was beeee-_eau_tiful, fellas!" said Wander, clapping and then tossing a single, glowing crystal into the Bingleborps' hat. "Could you do me another one? Maybe somethin' a little upbeat?"

"Uh… we mostly sing about battles… or the time our planet was invaded by Lord Hater… things like that," said the slightly smaller of the two.

"Aw, come on now. There must be somethin' that lights your little fires? Here: I'll get you started." Wander whipped off his hat and in one smooth motion pulled out his banjo and began to play a little solo. The other binglebop clapped uncertainly, exchanging sideways glances with his partner. _Just who is the busker here, anyway?_

Unperturbed, Wander started to sing.

_"Weeeeeeeeelllllll… I met a pair of bingleborps who didn't seem to smile,  
I thought I'd try to cheer 'em up for just a little while  
I think I got a tale to tell that they'll remember later  
'bout a skeleton with a big red cape and a badge that says Lord Hater!"_

A small crowd gathered; Wander modulated up a key.

_"His ship's a giant skull, the only kind you'll find in space,  
He always has an angry scowl upon his skully face  
And if that ain't enough to help you Hater recognize  
His Watchdog army surely will: those little guys are eyes!"_

He played a brief solo as the bingleborps clapped along:

_"Now, just remember, Hatey really isn't all that bad  
Coz deep inside he's insecure, he's lonely and he's sad  
One day I want to put a big ol' smile upon that lip  
But now I gotta go because…"_

Sylvia stormed through the crowd and yelled at Wander:

_"WE'RE GOING TO MISS OUR SHIP!"_

"Thank you, thank you!" said Wander, as Sylvia dragged him away by one hand from the applauding crowd. She adopted a running position and placed him firmly on her back.

"Aw, you're no fun, Syl," he laughed.

"I have to hand it to you, Wander," she said, speeding towards the general store at the end of the street, "that was a catchy tune you had there. But we need to stay focused. Let's get the supplies and get out of here. I get the feeling Shuttle Pointe isn't the safest place in the galaxy."

* * *

Sylvia burst through the door, the little bell jingling to signal her entrance, to be faced with a glorious array of food, drinks, spare parts, fuel, and anything else a traveller could possible need for an ardous journey. A few well-dressed beings of all shapes and sizes wandered the aisles, but overall the store was remarkable quiet, given the breadth of products on offer.

"Let's just find some of the cheap food and get out of here," said Sylvia. "If we don't get to the depot before nightfall we're going to be stuck here until the suns rise."

Wander set to work, gathering the ingredients he needed to keep them fed on the road. When armed with spices, dried meats, and preserved fruits, the things they scavenged and bartered for along the way more often than not turned into cheap, delicious creations. Sylvia joined him at the counter with some medkits and waited to pay.

Behind the register stood a tiny, mustached clerk, wearing a striped shirt, an apron, and an expression of furrowed-brow concern. Slowly he rung up each item until the final total appeared.

"That'll… that'll be 6,523 crystals, sir and ma'am."

Wander pulled out his wallet, tongue stuck out the side of his mouth, and started to count out his currency. "One, two, three hundred… I got three hundred. Syl, can you make up the rest? Syl? Syl?"

To his left stood Sylvia, her jaw practically on the floor in shock. _Six thousand crystals for _this?Anywhere else they'd been, this would top out at a thousand, max. Soon her expression of shock turned to one of anger. She leaned across the counter and growled at the clerk.

"I don't know what kind of game you're playing here, but we're not the kind of rubes you can rip off, pardner," she snarled into the clerk's sweating face.

"That's right!" chimed in Wander. "We're the kind of rubes who… uh… wait, Syl. What are you talking about?"

"I'm saying, Wander, that this guy thinks he can get away with extortion! There's no _way_ we're paying that amount!"

"L-listen…" replied the clerk. The sweat was spreading to his shirt now; Sylvia backed off a little, and saw on his chest a gleaming nametag saying '_Lemmy is ~at your service~'_ in copperplate font. He glanced from side to side to make sure nobody else was listening. "I don't set the prices here. None of us do. It's… someone else. They charge us 80% of what we make for protection money, so we have to do what they say."

"Protection money?" asked Sylvia. "Protection from what? Ain't there a sheriff around here?"

Lemmy gulped and leaned back in towards Sylvia and Wander. "It's the sheriff who sets the prices. Look around you, stranger! Why do you think the store's so empty? Why are the streets so full? It's because nobody can afford to buy anything. And if they're stuck here…"

"... then the sheriff has control over them…"

Lemmy nodded, then glanced behind Sylvia and cleared his throat. "Yes, madam – I assure you all our wares are most competitively priced." Sylvia turned around to see two well-dressed, green-skinned beings in suits strolling past, looking sceptically at the counter. As the door jingled closed, Lemmy continued.

"Those are his goons," he said. "Look, normally we don't tell strangers what's going on, but you two look trustworthy. So… can you he-"

"For _sure_ we can help you out!" bellowed Wander. Lemmy and Sylvia cringed, but thankfully nobody else was around to hear their plan. "Why, that's just our favourite thing in the world to do. Ain't that right, Sylvia?"

"It sure is, buddy," she said. "But more importantly, if we don't get this mess cleaned up, we're going to be stuck on this planet."

"Aw, I'm not worried about that, Syl. I'm just glad to help out!"

"Good, good," said Lemmy. "Alright, listen. You saw those two aliens. Around four-foot-five, dressed in tuxedos, big eyes, green skin, mohawks. Right? The sheriff looks just like that, only he'll have a tin star on his jacket. So… that's your starting point. Maybe talk to some of the other storekeepers, too. And you'll want a room at the inn. I'll let Dolly know you're coming."

Sylvia nodded. "Come on, Wander. I guess we're sleeping indoors tonight."

"Oh, boy!" he said, bouncing onto her back. "I hope they have room service!"

That sounded appealing to Sylvia, too. But so did getting out of Shuttle Pointe. And that wasn't going to happen without some hard work. And a little bit of helping out, too.


	4. Chapter 4

There was no room service. There was barely even a room. There were two cot beds, probably army surplus, perhaps once occupied by rambunctious Fist Fighters, judging by the lumps and dents, and there were some moth-eaten blankets stacked haphazardly on top. A chipped basin, a cracked mirror, and a musty old dresser the size of a battleship completed the ensemble. Sylvia tried to imagine who would have chosen to decorate a room like this. Someone who'd never have to sleep in it, she concluded.

The blankets, too, were a sick joke, thought Sylvia to herself, as she tried in vain to get a good night's sleep. _Who the glorbin' frackle needs 'em?_ It was too hot, too stuffy, too _damn close_ in that room. She found herself wondering why they'd agreed to stay in the inn to begin with. They were both so used to sleeping outdoors – Wander protected from the clear sky freezes by his hat, Sylvia from the prairie winds by her furry coat – that it defied explanation. They'd just gone along with what Lemmy said. Why?

"Wander," murmured Sylvia, the electric blue light of one of the moons outside doing its level best to keep her not only awake but also alert. "You awake?"

On the cot next to her, Wander lay, spread-eagled, arms behind his head, snoring like a champ.

"Wander? Y'awake, little buddy?"

His quiet exhalations broke the silence, but not his unconscious state.

"_Wander_," she said for a third time, accompanying it with a little shove to the arm.

"So delicious," muttered Wander, "space cookies, all warm n'… Syl?" He groggily addressed his companion, who now had her arms behind her head.

"Can't sleep either, huh? Yeah, guess we should have stayed out under the stars again."

"It's alright, Sylvia," he said, propping his sleepy head up on one elbow. "It sure was nice of Dolly to let us stay here for free."

"Yeah, it was, wasn't it?" she said. "Wander, something isn't sittin' right."

"Do you need to use the bathroom, Sylvia? We have magazines…"

"No! I mean, about this town. Why did Lemmy tell us? Why isn't Dolly charging us?" She ran through the scenarios in her head, but hoped against hope that Wander had some reassuring words. She hoped that her mistrust was just a product of exhaustion, readily banished by some cheerful optimism from the star nomad.

"Well, Lemmy knows a pair of good buddies when he sees one, I figure. And as for Dolly, well, I get the feelin' she isn't hurtin' for a crystal or two, judgin' by her clothes."

Wander was right about that. The innkeeper, of the same species as Lemmy, only much curvier and infinitely more demure, was dressed in a way Sylvia couldn't begin to comprehend. Zbornaks weren't exactly known for their grace and charm, but Dolly had it in spades, even if she didn't talk much and had her eye on the inn door most of the time.

"That makes sense, Wander," said Sylvia. "I guess it's nothing." She paused. "Thanks. I was just worried, is all."

"All good in the hood, Big Blue," yawned Wander. "But once we get this sheriff sorted out, I sure hope we can pay her what she's due."

"We will, Wander. We will," said Sylvia, as tiredness finally overwhelmed her.

* * *

Again, she was the second to wake. It had taken her long enough to get to sleep that even with the suns up, she was still dozing. But the absence of contented snoring from the bed next to her shook her from her drowsiness.

One advantage of being a Zbornak was that there was no need for clothes, so it was with immediate haste that she headed downstairs to see where Wander had gotten to this time. She didn't need to look far. He was in the reception area, dishing up breakfast for hungry travellers as Dolly looked on proudly.

The line, of all shapes, sizes, species, and appetites, shuffled rhythmically as Wander served the most important meal of the day. "Oatmeal, best meal! Over easy, never greasy! Sausage patty, pretty fatty! OJ, happy day!"

Sylvia couldn't help but beam with pride. This was what he lived for, she thought to herself. The chance to help out, the chance to get a friendly handshake in return, to bring a little brightness to someone's day and to receive the same in return.

But there was more to him than that. She knew it. There was more to herself, too, but, well, that could wait. For now, she just needed to know what made him tick, and more importantly, why.

She inveigled herself into the breakfast line, and when she got to the front, she only had to smile at Wander before being dished up with a huge bowl of oatmeal, topped with a little jam, a little honey, and a fruit she didn't recognize.

"Thanks, Wander. You know just what I like."

"Big blue, oat stew! Fresh fruit, makes you toot!"

"Glorb, Wander! Are you serious?" She shook her head, laughed and headed to a small table to enjoy her breakfast alone.

Dolly smirked at her as she walked past.

Something didn't feel right.

* * *

Wander joined her at the table soon enough, with a plate of buckwheat pancakes, a smiley face drawn on them with fresh honey.

"Well, that was fun," said Wander as he sat down. "See what you miss if you sleep the day away?"

"Hey, it's easy to get up if you fall asleep in seconds," she replied. "You gotta teach me how you do that sometime."

Before Wander could reply, Dolly pulled up a stool and sat down with them.

"Thank you _so_ much for aiding with our morning service, Mr. Wander," she said to the star nomad. "And, Ms. Sylvia, might I say that it's _truly _a pleasure to have you joining us. It was, I say, most unfortunate that we couldn't become better acquainted last night." She stood up, curtsied, and sat back down.

"Uh… you too," she said, with a mouth full of oatmeal and fruit.

"I spoke to my, um, fellow businessperson Lemmy last night on the telephone, and he tells me you might be able to assist with our pricing situation here in Shuttle Pointe. Would I be correct in that presumption?"

"Why, you most certainly would!" said Wander. "You just show us where that nasty sheriff's at, and we'll talk some sense into him."

"Now, hold on, Wander," said Sylvia, placing her hoof on his hand. "Dolly—"

"That's Ms. Dollington Shuttleworth, if you'd be so kind," she replied, batting her long lashes.

"Ms… look, I know we said we'd help, but I think we need a little more information here." She looked around the mainly bare dining room, nervously, as Dolly stared her down. She had a small frame, just like Lemmy, but a face full of attitude. In a bid to avoid eye contact, Sylvia scanned the walls. She saw several olde-timey photos, and a few more recent, some with Lemmy, and others with various townsfolk she didn't know yet.

"What's there to know? It's the sheriff. He's causing all the trouble here. Ask that darling Lemmy and he'll be sure to tell you all you need to know. Now, if you'll excuse me." She slid off her stool onto the floor and sashayed back behind the reception desk.

"Alright," said Wander as he finished the last of his breakfast. "You heard the lady. Let's go see what's what with the law in this town!"

Sylvia got up and headed for the door, shooting Dolly a glance as she did so. Dolly saw her looking, so Sylvia made as though she was absent-mindedly examining the photos behind her on the wall instead. There sure were a lot of them – and a lot of different people, too.

"Let's do just that, Wander."

Something _still_ didn't feel right. And it wasn't the oatmeal.


	5. Chapter 5

Sylvia grumbled as the pair emerged from the hotel. True, the bright, orange sunshine was a welcome touch, and in a certain light the dust clouds, rusty signs, and raised sidewalks were exciting in a frontier town kind of way. The streets, though, were still hectic, if a little quieter than the previous night, and to Sylvia's mind that meant danger.

"I keep telling you, this isn't right," said Sylvia, as they tramped down the thoroughfare to the sheriff's office. Wander soon hopped onto her back – not because of any laziness on his part, but because the streets soon grew so narrow that walking two abreast was easier said than done.

"And _I_ keep tellin' _you_ that you need to relax! We got to stay in a fancy hotel, there was an awesome breakfast, and now we're gon' help some good people out and get on our way to… wherever we're goin'!"

Wander's enthusiasm could be infectious. But first thing in the morning, after virtually no sleep, it was more like virulent. Sylvia opted to pass the rest of the short stroll in silence.

"Well, this is it," she said, looking up at the tin star affixed to a carelessly-built shack that was otherwise much like any other. "Hop off."

Wander didn't need to be asked twice as he jumped down from Sylvia's back and strolled inside.

"Heelllllloooo!" he bellowed. "We're here to see the sheriff!"

"Knock it off, Wander," hissed Sylvia, following closely behind. "Let's not attract attention to ourselves."

_Too late for that_, she thought to herself, as she heard a throat being laboriously cleared behind them.

They both turned to see the sheriff, who was seated on a rickety chair by the hinge side of the front door. He, too, was of the same species as Dolly and Lemmy, but had a lazy man's gut, an unfashionable amount of stubble, and the hostile sigh of a man who was tired of life but always ready to let people know about it. And, of course, he had a star on his chest.

"I've been expectin' you," he said, with a careless drawl. With a filthy handkerchief he polished the tin star on his breakfast-stained shirt. "I think you got some 'splainin' to do. What's your deal? Meddlin'. Hangin' around with Dolly. Lookin' all suspicious. Singin' in the street. I knew you'd wash up in my office." He stood up, pulled the tiny nightstick from his belt, and slapped it into his open palm menacingly.

Sylvia looked around for another route of egress. She wasn't worried about the nightstick – she could flatten this sheriff with a stray hoof – but rather about how things may escalate. But aside from the front door, there was simply a desk, a row of cells – all but one empty, the last one occupied by a sleeping drunkard, and a safe built into the wall.

And then there were his goons. The two green-skins from the general store marched inside and slammed the door behind them. They glanced to their boss, and then to the two travellers before them. Sylvia's expression was one of concern: Wander had a goofy grin on his face.

"Alright, listen," said Sylvia. "We're all adults here. My friend and I just want to get out of your, uh… lovely town and continue on our journey. The thing is, we can't afford the supplies we need, so—"

"—so we're gonna take this opportunity to help you folks out!" beamed Wander, before springing forward and grabbing the leftmost goon's hand in a firm shake. He repeated this with the right goon. Sylvia grimaced – she was sure they'd cuff him for lunging at them like that. But instead they just exchanged worried glances. She caught the sheriff's eye, and could have sworn she saw fear in his, too.

_They're scared, too?_ Things _really_ weren't sitting right now. It was hard for her to explain, but dealing with bona fide Bad Guys was… well, it was easier. Snarl at them, wrap her tail around them, maybe sock them in the nose a couple of times, then go on one's way. But when they showed vulnerability or complexity… well, that was harder.

She shook her head and tried to regain control of the situation. "Look, I know what's going on here," she said. "You're skimming the cream off the travelers' wallets, aren'tcha?" She stopped for a moment, not pleased with her mixed metaphor, but she was in too deep to stop. "And you're all in it together, cutting a little corn for yourselves! For shame. You and the innkeeper! It's so obvious! You even have the same last name as her!" She paused. "And the storekeeper, too! He's in all the photos in the inn!" She stood back, satisfied, with her arms folded and a victorious gleam in her eyes. "Well, we're not paying a single credit more into this little family affair, are we, Wander?"

"Now, now, Syl. They might not be family," he replied, absent-mindedly. "Around here, people are named for their town or their profession. It's so cute! A whole town full of itty-bitty Shuttleworths. And the photos? That's just the local chamber of commerce!"

The sheriff sat bolt upright. "That's… amazing. Nobody ever cared about us like that before, to even know that stuff." He looked to Sylvia. "He's right, y'know."

Sylvia raised an eyebrow. "How do you know this stuff?"

"Why, I grew up readin' about all the folks in this galaxy that we call home. Merchants stick together. And it's not unusual for people to be named after what they spend their days doin'. Wink wink!" He paused, then leapt up, wrapped his arms around Sylvia's neck, and thrust his face towards hers. "Wink wink!"

Sylvia sighed. "Like, say, a guy called Wander. Because you wander," she said, deadpan. "I think I get it now."

He hugged her and then jumped back down, squeaking with joy.

"Alright, listen," announced the sheriff, his booming voice belying his tiny stature. He began to pace back and forth as he talked. Whether he was addressing his visitors, his goons, or even himself, wasn't clear. "The orange one's right. We're not related. But the blue one's right, too. I do charge a tax here – a high one. I do that to keep the town safe. We don't call it protection money for nothin'." He stopped and looked into Sylvia's eyes. "But you need to do a lot more listenin' and a lot less accusin' if you want to find out the truth about this town."

Sylvia looked around the bare, crumbling room again. With the pale green walls peeling and the cell bars rusty, it was clear that the money wasn't going for the upkeep of the town's resources. As for the sheriff himself, his clothes had seen much better days.

"So…" she said, and shrugged. "Wait. Why are you telling us? You called us meddlers just a few minutes ago."

"Because… because of this little guy here," he said, pointing towards Wander, who fanned his face with appreciation. With an almost imperceptible nod, he dismissed his goons, who shrugged and left, closing the door quietly behind them. "Believe it or not, you ain't the first to come through here, demandin' that we lower the prices. How could you be? Hundreds o' people come through here every week." He stopped pacing and hopped up onto the chair behind his scratched, beaten-up desk. He gestured for his visitors to sit down. "I guess Dolly sent you in here because she knew you were different."

"Alright. Here's what happens." He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a ledger. He opened it up to reveal a constant stream of withdrawals from the municipal bank account, augmented with the occasional large payment from the various stores around town. What was clear is that there was always more red than black.

"Folks come in here and complain," explained the Sheriff. "I take 'em to the store or the inn or the tavern or wherever their bill may be, and I… well, I make things right. They get their little discount. Then they leave. It's… it's easier that way."

"So nobody actually pays those inflated prices?" asked Sylvia.

"I'm getting' to that. The rich folks who come through here, they make up the difference. And if rich folks don't pass through, well, the merchants need to make up the shortfall. Somehow."

"… so they raise the prices on everyone else by even more."

"Exactly. It's… what would you call it if you had some snow, and the snow was rolled into some kind of sphere or ball of some kind, and it just kept getting bigger and bigger until it got out of control?"

"Ooh! Ooh! I know this one!" yelled Wander, waving his hand in the air like an eager schoolboy.

Sylvia covered her face with a hoof. "Snowball. Snowball effect. You'd call it a snowball effect."

"Syl," he chuckled, elbowing his companion. "You didn't even raise your hand!"

The sheriff smiled at Wander. "Like I said. When I saw this one singin' in the street, I knew he was gon' be a little bit different. And that's why I'm goin' to tell you what I didn't tell the others who have passed through here before y'all. You want to know where the money's going, don't you?"

Wander's mouth fell open, turned to a smile, and he nodded maniacally.

Sylvia was less impressed.

"Honestly, sheriff…? Not really. At this point, we just want to get our supplies for a decent price and move on."

Before Wander could interject, the sheriff reached back into the desk drawer and pulled out a second ledger.

"I think this may change your mind," he said, sliding it across the desk to Sylvia.

She inspected its cover dispassionately. It was a fine piece of binding – black leather with red trim and yellow copperplate text on the front saying 'VASSAL DEBT'. That last part, she had to admit, piqued her interest a bit. But not as much as the contents of the first page, which were topped with a small, black-and-white photo of a watchdog. With Wander leaning over her shoulder to share the text, she began to read.

_"Dear conquered peoples, local coward, or other miniscule worm,_

_Congratulations on your acceptance into the Lord Hater vassal program! We are pleased to have the opportunity to share in your exploits for the betterment of all badkind._

_Our exclusive club grants you the protection of Lord Hater so long as you stick to just a few easy-to-follow, easy-to-remember rules:_

_1) Deliver to us 50,000 credits per week (PayPal NOT accepted since they started taking __**fees!**__)_

_2) Provide to our Watchdog army any assistance that they may request at any time, including but not limited to weaponry, housing, snacks, and ping pong tables_

_3) Realize the towering amazingness of Lord Hater and follow his example in your day-to-day lives._

_Needless to say, membership of the vassal program comes with other rules, too. The most important one of these is Rule .b: any mention of the vassal program to those outside of its protection is a criminal offence. This offence is punishable by being fired into the core of the nearest sun._

_Thank you for your continued membership!_

_You're nothing to us,_

_Commander Peepers  
Third-in-command to Lord Hater  
Administrative assistant – vassal program"_

"Wow," said Sylvia, pushing the ledger back across the desk. "I didn't think Peepers had it in him.

"Yep, that's it," said the Sheriff. "And that last part, needless to say, is why we don't make a habit of talking about it."

"So that's why Lemmy thinks you're taking the money… because you never told him!"

"Exactly. They're sneaky, those guys up there on that skull. If they can't take a planet by force, they do something like this. I think they call it… uhh… what is it when you pit people against themselves to make 'em all easy-like to control?"

Wander's hand shot up again.

"Divide and rule. It's divide and rule," said Sylvia.

Wander put his hand back down.

"Yeah, that."

The room fell silent for a minute as Sylvia and the sheriff looked to the floor, each lost in thought at the enormity of the situation.

"So… why don't you just stop paying him?" said Wander, absent-mindedly.

"What?! How… why… that's a terrible idea," said the sheriff.

"Really?" replied Wander. "I'll tell you what. I'm gon' go and get us some coffee. When I get back, let me know one good reason why you should send him this week's credits."

He got up and strolled out of the room. Sylvia thought about following him, but truth be told, she was trying to figure out what he was getting at. Sometimes it could be frustrating, the way he spoke in riddles or expected people to guess at what he meant. But… well, he'd been right so far. Sometimes his way worked. So, she thought, I'd better try to understand it.

The sheriff, meanwhile, was trying to think of ways to describe how awful an idea this truly was.

It was harder than he might have assumed.


	6. Chapter 6

Wander strolled down the main road, the sun in his eyes, thinking of where might be the best place to get coffee. Why not back at the inn, he decided. After all, he knew his way around the 'kitchen' there, and he could brew it up just the way he liked it.

He pushed through the swing doors and gave a quick nod to Dolly. She looked back, surprised, from behind the counter, then rushed around front to meet him.

"Mr. Wander," she said, "thank you once again for your kind assistance this morning," she said. "Has it been a productive morning for you so far?"

"Oh, not just yet, Ms. Shuttleworth," he replied, "but it'll sure be better after another cup o' joe! Mind if I brew up a flask?"

"By all means," she said. "We normally remove the breakfast arrangements after the meal is complete, but you'll find a kettle and instant coffee in the usual spot."

Wander set to work, the deft alchemy of his perfect cup taking an exacting amount of time. He felt eyes on his back throughout, and with no doors opening or footsteps heard, it was clear they were coming from the innkeeper. However, he paid her no mind until he was almost done.

"Makin' good money this month?" he asked, casually.

She spluttered briefly in response. "I… well… no, not really. Although I hardly think that's an appropriate question for a gentleman to be asking."

"Well, I do apologize, Ms. Shuttleworth. But we're here to help, Sylvia and I." He paused. "And one thing I've learned about helpin' people is that honesty is the best policy."

She stared him down. "I… now, you… listen here. I've been nothing but forthright with you two. But there are some things a lady just won't share. Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to…" she sniffed, but then looked away. "No. I'm a professional businesswoman. Please, go now. Do what you need to do. But don't drag me into it."

Wander watched her head around the counter and back to the reception area. He reached into his hat and pulled out a small bag of coins.

"For the coffee," he said. "Put it in your safe. It's yours."

"But—" she protested

"It's yours." He turned to leave. "Welp, seeya!" Before she could give it back, he skipped away.

* * *

She looked after him, confused. "That was nice, but…" There was nobody else in the room, but her professionalism, her drive to always be above it all, kept her voice steady and her words polite. But inside, she was… well, a little bit humiliated. Helping with breakfast was one thing. But making a big deal out of charity like that? She worked too hard to rely on handouts. Even with everything that was going on.

She looked at the little bag of coins. She grabbed it hard in her hand, then marched up to Wander and Sylvia's room, where she placed it under the pillow.

Back at the Sheriff's office, Sylvia was rubbing her forehead with a hoof as the Sheriff feverishly sketched on a blackboard. His etchings looked like a cannon shooting a tiny face into a cake, with a skeleton lurking nearby.

"I'm telling you," she said. "There is no device in the galaxy even _remotely_ capable of shooting you into the sun! They'd need to fly you for years to get you that close! I'm no mathologist but look at it!" She got up and thumped the blackboard.

The sheriff had to admit, it did seem improbable. "Alright, alright. You're right." He pointed, defiantly, to the crude rendition of the skeleton. "But you read what Lord Hater wrote. He's not messin' around here."

Sylvia leaned back in her chair and snorted. "That's true. When ol' bonehead says he wants something, he'll stop at nothing to get it. And he did say… wait. Wait. Give me that ledger again."

The sheriff slid it across the table. Sylvia opened it quickly.

"Hater didn't say anything," she said, jabbing her finger at the photo of the watchdog on the page. "It was Commander Peepers."

"But surely that's the same thing," said the sheriff with lament in his voice. "I mean, he's third in command. Surely his word's law just like Hater's is."

"There's one thing you're missing, partner," she said, standing up.

The sheriff tilted his head. The door opened, and Wander came in with a flask of coffee. "And what would that be?" he said? Without breaking stride, Wander poured a tin cup of coffee and handed it to Sylvia, who took it without so much as looking down.

She narrowed her gaze. "Commander Peepers is a little dork who couldn't extort poop from a bird. That's what it is." She gave a wry, dark smile and struck her best action hero pose. Without looking down, she then took a swig of coffee, only for her eyes to widen as she spat it out. "Ow hot hot hot hot." She put the mug down and regained her badass stance and expression.

"Syl," chuckled Wander, taking a seat at the desk and setting a mug for himself and one for the sheriff. "Let it cool first."

"Aw, cool nothing," she rasped. "You nailed it, Wander. We're not paying that little pipsqueak. In fact, let's call him right now. He knows where you guys live, right? Get him down here, him and his little cyclops army." It was clear that Sylvia was ready for a fight, and the sheriff for one seemed set to join her.

"Yeah! You guys can take 'im down! I'll wait here and watch from the window! Yeah!" He danced a little jig on his chair.

"Fellas, fellas," said Wander, shuffling back in his chair and putting his feet on the table. "I never said we were gon' fight him. I just said, let's not pay him. Alright? Alright."

Sylvia bounded over to him and looked him in the eye. "But now's our chance, Wander! We can fight him on home turf… or something like that, anyway. We can teach him a lesson once and for all!"

Wander was about to speak, but the sheriff interrupted him.

"You know… as much as I would love to take him down a peg, maybe your friend here's right," he admitted. "If there's a fight, people could get caught in the crossfire. Innocent folks. You know what it's like out there. It's too busy a place for a battle."

"Exactly," said Wander. He blew on his coffee. "Cool down, now." He then took a sip and gasped with pleasure.

"Fine," said Sylvia, plopping down on the remaining chair. She snorted dismissively, and the sound from that woke up the drunk in the cell down the hall, judging from the dull moaning and scrabbling sound.

"Coffee?" said the drunk, poking a forlorn face through the bars and looking down at the desk.

Wander made to get up. Sylvia put a hand on his shoulder. "Allow me, little buddy," she said, taking the flask down to the cell.

The drunk smiled and crawled over to the corner, where he retrieved a little wooden box. He scrambled back over and Sylvia filled it with coffee.

"Now, let that cool, or you'll-," she said, as the drunkard gulped it down without a pause. "—burn yourself."

"Not me," he said with a little burp. "My kind don't scald."

"Of course you don't," she muttered. Sylvia turned around and headed for the desk again. "So what now?" she said, as she sat down.

"I don't rightly know," said Wander. "Our work here's done, ain't it? Your cashflow problems are over, Sheriff! All that's left is to tell the merchants, and then we're on our way."

"You're… that's it?" The sheriff seemed surprised – almost a little disappointed, even.

"Well, maybe there's _one_ more thing we can do. How do you normally get in touch with those guys up on the skull ship?"

The sheriff nodded over to some antiquated radio equipment in the corner. "It's a little fuzzy, but it gets the job done."

"Kind of like Wander," said Sylvia with a smile.

Wander laughed and slapped Sylvia gently on the thigh. "Oh, you!"

The sheriff cleared his throat. "You're sayin' we should… tell him we're not paying?"

"I surely am. We'll see what he says, but if I know my friend Peepers, I think he'll understand."

Sylvia blinked. "Your _friend_? Wander, he locked us up in prison! He hates our guts!"

"I don't think so," said Wander, shaking his head. "I'd remember something like that. He was so nice to show me around that ship of his that one time. Just give him a call! He'll understand!"

* * *

'Commander Peepers', read the plaque. It stretched almost the entire length of his tiny desk. He used to have a much bigger one, of the finest, gleaming hardwood, replete with drawers and compartments innumerable. but it was removed one day without comment. It turned out Hater was using it to store his old phone books.

The watchdog leader was fiddling with his communicator, which was making a quiet but audible high-pitched whine – much like the commander himself.

"This thing… why don't you _work?!_ It's bad enough we had our battery budget cut _again_ so I need to take them out of the remote when I want to use it… I swear, if _I_ was in charge…"

He slapped the hand-held device with feeling and the whining stopped.

"Phew! Now to relax."

No sooner had he put his hands behind his head and leaned back on his chair when the communicator crackled into life.

"Shuttleworth calling. Shuttleworth calling. Do you read me? Over." It was the sheriff's voice, faint and tinny.

Peepers sighed and picked up the device.

"Yes, yes, I read you. This better be good." He paused. "Over."

"Well, uh, Commander, as you know I represent conquered peoples reference code 28912-S. And I was just calling to tell you this month's tribute payment, well, it's gon' be a little late, over."

Sylvia covered her mouth to stifle a giggle as Wander looked on.

"How late?" said the Commander. "In fact, no! Lateness is against the rules! Just what is the meaning of this?" Another pause. "Oh-glorbin'-ver!"

"Well, I'll, uh, cut to the chase. We ain't gon' pay you anymore, over."

Peepers was quiet for a moment. "Didn't you read the rulebook? I'll… we'll shoot you into the sun! The sun! Over! The sun!"

"About that. Uh, I don't believe you can… do that? So, what with it bein' an empty threat an' all, we're just gon' keep our money here instead. So if you can just hang up now and not bother folks anymore, I'll…" The sheriff trailed off – he was distracted by Wander, who was leaning over him and stage-whispering 'put me on! Put me on!'

Eventually the sheriff sighed and handed the device over to Wander, who yelled slowly, deliberately, and above all joyously into the ancient radio.

"Peepers! It's me, Wander! Remember? You showed me around your ship that one time? I'm furry and orange and have a really firm handshake and a really neat hat?"

Peepers' eye drooped. He didn't respond – not because Wander didn't say "over", but because he was grappling with the realization that, well, Wander had put the sheriff up to this. That made things even more complicated than they already were.

"Anyhoosers, Peepers, the sheriff and his buddies here can't pay anymore. They need the money for _oth-er thiiiiings._ I know that'll put a little dampener on your whole _takin' over the universe_ whatchamacallit, but hey, you understand how it is, right? No hard feelings, right buddy?"

Peepers remained silent for a second. "No," he eventually sighed.

"Alrighty then! Well, guess I'll see you around. But not if you see me first! Haaaa! Get it? Eye joke! Well, later, third-in-command-to Hater!" Wander handed the radio back to the sheriff, who shut it off.

* * *

The sheriff leaned back in the radio operator's chair. "That was… surprisingly easy. Thank y'all kindly. But how do… how do we know he ain't gon' launch an attack?"

"Oh, just trust me on that one," said Wander. "If he _does_ do somethin', you just let us know, and we'll come runnin' back to give my pal a talkin' to. But I doubt it's gon' come to that."

Sylvia cleared her throat. "So we can get our supplies—"

"—at the usual price," interrupted the sheriff, reading her mind. She beamed in response.

"—and get out of this dump." She blinked. "That… came out wrong, sheriff. Sorry."

He laughed, got up, and slapped her on the shoulder. "Ha! A plain speaker. I like it. No, you're quite right. But now that we ain't payin' tribute, maybe we can fix the place up a bit."

"And get me some food," cried the drunkard from the cell. Wander, in response, pulled a sandwich from his hat and tossed it down the hall. "Ugh… mustard," said the drunkard as he caught it, but ate it anyway.

Wander got up and headed for the front door. "We'll go check out of the inn and pick up our supplies, and then we'll be on our way. Thanks for everything, sheriff!" He held out his hand, and the sheriff approached to shake it, only for Wander to pull him into an aggressive, fluffy hug. Then he turned and left, Sylvia nodding and smiling to the sheriff as she followed.

* * *

In his tiny office on his vast ship, Peepers was sweating over his own copy of the tribute ledger.

"How does he expect me to bring in six figures a month with only three enforcers," he whined. "And how did they find out that we're _years_ behind schedule on that sun-launching cannon?!"

"PEEEEEPERS!" roared Lord Hater's voice from the entrance to his office. "I hear conspiratorial mumblings coming from your new desk! There wouldn't be a _problem_, would there?!"

"N-n-no, Lord Hater, sir!" said Peepers, slamming the ledger shut.

Hater merely grunted in response and continued down the hall. Captain Tim followed closely behind on a leash, and Peepers could have sworn that little jaw-with-legs stuck his tongue out at him on the way. How he hated Captain Tim!

He opened the ledger again and shakily crossed out the Shuttleworth account. Carrying the sum downward to the tribute total, he changed the number in black ink to another one in red, before putting it away again.

He pulled a paper bag from his desk and began to breathe into it.


	7. Chapter 7

"Alright! I can't wait to check out of that fleapit and head for the shuttle station," beamed Sylvia.

"You said it! Well, not the fleapit part. I kinda liked that place. But, it's time to wander on!" Wander hopped on Sylvia's back for the short ride up the road to the inn. The streets were noticeably quieter already, with more activity behind store windows and around the shuttle station. The wheels of commerce were turning unopposed, with prices back down at sensible levels.

The inn, however, didn't seem to be reaping the benefits just yet. Sylvia guessed that a lot of long-term residents, newly free to resupply and move on, had checked out. Only Dolly remained in the lobby, sweeping dolefully.

"I imagine you're eager to move on," said Dolly, as Sylvia looked around the lobby. "Pleasure having you both, and I hope to serve you again."

Sylvia lifted a hoof and began to respond, only for Wander to cut her off. "Aw, shucks, Ms. Shuttleworth!" he yelled. "The pleasure was all ours! And, well, we're happy to help y'all out here in this lovely little town of yours. Looks like you could use it! Wink wink!" He smiled eagerly as Sylvia's eyes drooped and Dolly returned to her sweeping.

"Yeah. What he said. Come on, Wander. Let's go get our stuff."

They had just ascended the stairs when the proprietor shouted after them. "You'll find your coins under the pillow, for safe-keeping."

Wander leaned over the balcony and yelled down to her. "But that was a gift! Our way of sayin' thank you! Our way of helpin' out!"

Sylvia elbowed him sharply and hissed in his ear. "Wait, you gave her money? After we saved her town?! Wander, we've done enough!"

Dolly looked up, listening eagerly to their little exchange. "Ms. Sylvia is quite right," she said, nodding at the Zbornak. "Mr. Wander, please understand, I appreciate your gesture, but I do not appreciate your insistence on refusing my hospitality. Now, if you'll excuse me."

Wander raised a finger, ready to respond, but Ms. Shuttleworth picked up her broom and headed into a back room, whose door she closed with pointed force.

Sylvia shrugged and headed for the room. Wander remained frozen on the balcony, finger in the air, mouth open, while she packed. When she returned, he turned to her, an angry look on his face – a look she hadn't seen in days and had hoped never to see again.

"Well, the nerve of her!" he ranted. "You try so hard to help people out, and that's the thanks you get!"

Sylvia sighed. He really _did_ live for this helping-out stuff, after all. It was the best part of him. She knew that – knew it, in fact, all too well. But sometimes…"

"… Wander, sometimes people just want to help themselves. Come on," she said, heading for the front door and securing as many packs as she could onto her back. "Strap on that last bag and climb on. I'll explain."

Wander huffed and frowned as he finished loading Sylvia with their supplies. "I don't want to talk about it," he pouted. Sylvia beckoned him outside and onto her saddle, and rolled her eyes as they headed for the shuttle station. He'd snap out of it soon, she told herself.

* * *

Peepers put the paper bag down, his breathing back at something resembling an appropriate level. He pulled the ledger back out.

"Okay, okay," he muttered to himself. "It's just one account. It's not the end of the world. We can… we can make up the shortfall elsewhere! I'll squeeze a little more out of the Bingleborps! I'll get those creepy little birds to pull their weight! I'll…"

"PEEPERS!" Another roar came from the hallway, followed by rapid, echoing footsteps. "How am I supposed to remember my mantra with all this _racket?_" Lord Hater reached the doorway with surprising quickness, sticking his head around the corner before Peepers could put the ledger away. He was, Peepers distantly registered, wearing a new robe, with '2 ZEN 4 U' on the chest. "You _know_ this is my meditation hour! Wait. Why are you looking all nervous and mumbling over the tribute ledger?!"

Peepers seemed to sprout extra arms as he flustered and scrambled to secure it in his tiny desk's drawer. "Uh, uh, nothing, sir! I was just checking how my handwriting had progressed over the last few months, just like you asked. Yep, great improvement!" His sweaty palms failed to open the desk in time as Hater approached, snatching it from him.

He hadn't checked it in months, so every turn of the page was agony for Peepers. _Please, let him get bored before he gets to the latest update_, he said to himself, a tiny vein popping out on his eyelid as his heart thumped in his tiny chest.

"Mmhmm, mmhmm, acceptable," said Hater, nodding as he flicked through the ledger. "Your fives and sevens are indeed improving. I'll give you a solid C+ for effort. No, wait. Just a C." He put the ledger down at the halfway point. Peepers visibly slid down his seat and exhaled with sheer relief.

No sooner had he put it down than he picked it back up, scowling at Peepers as he did so. "You're hiding something, aren't you? Mother warned me about people like you…"

Peepers couldn't even bring himself to sit up straight and plead as Hater re-opened the book. "Sir?" he sighed, knowing what was coming next.

"COMMANDER PEEPERS!" screamed the Lord, thrusting the latest page into his third-in-command's face and pointing at the total. "WHY IS THE TRIBUTE TOTAL IN RED?! THAT MEANS IT'S IN THE NEGATIVE! WHICH MEANS WE CAN'T AFFORD NICE THINGS!"

"I'm aware of that, sir," said Peepers, sitting up a little straighter. He didn't feel quite as bad as he'd feared. Somehow, the anticipation – the sickly, acidic stomach, the throbbing headache, the constant, gnawing worry of pain to come - was always worse than the reality.

The Lord leaned into his face and snarled. Peepers wanted to wipe some of the spittle from his now-half-closed eyelids, but thought better of it. "I assume you have an explanation for this?"

Peepers leaned back with almost imperceptible slowness. "Sir, we had a bit of a problem at Shuttle Pointe. They were, uh, unable to pay us this month due to… Circumstances." Somehow he pronounced the capital C.

Hater narrowed his eyes. "Circumstances, Commander? Well, Circumstances won't pay for a new bed for Captain Tim. You make up that shortfall, and you make it up fast, or so help me I'll fire you from a cannon into the sun!" Hater leaned back and sat down in the comfortable guest chair – placed there at his own insistence – across the desk from Peepers' stool.

Peepers sighed again. Maybe he was wrong to take that part literally in the first place.

"Yes, sir." He paused for a second. "Actually, I have an idea." With newfound confidence, and a sense of nothing-left-to-lose, he leapt from his seat and approached the faded, peeling galactic map pasted to the wall of his tiny office.

"Your excellence, please see how all existing vassals are clustered in the center of the galaxy. There are vast seams of wealth just _waiting_ to be mined!" Peepers strolled back and forth along the bottom of the map. "In this ever-expanding universe of ours, opportunities for riches are growing all the time!"

He was on a roll now. This was his element.

"And where better to start than the smaller planetoids? Think about it. With our vast army, we can take over several at a time, and build up the resources we need to attack the larger ones in each sector. And… and they'll be demoralized! They'll know their neighbors fell to us, and that they'll be next! Sir, it's time for a change in strategy." He balled his fists and thrust them to his hips. "It's time to go on an all-out offensive on the minor planetoids! Finally, we'll get what's coming to us! Finally, this universe will be ours!" He surveyed at the map with triumphant determination in his eyes. "I can see it now. Can't you, sir? Sir?" He turned around. "… sir?"

Hater was still seated in the guest chair, in a manner of speaking. He was in the lotus position, breathing deeply, eyes firmly closed, dead to the world. Of course. It was meditation hour.

Peepers sighed, his shoulders slumping. He trudged over to his Lord and tapped him gently on the knee.

Hater was roused with a start. "Huh? What? Peepers, what did I say about… oh. Right. The money thing." He cleared his throat and resumed his furious grimace. "A cannon! Into the sun!"

Peepers shoulders slumped further yet. He pulled a requition form from his pocket and held it out to his lordship. "I have a plan to make money and I need your permission to launch a small expeditionary force to minor planetoids," he slurred in monotone. He pointed to the form. "Sign here, here, here, here, here, initial here, sign here, here, initial here, draw an angry face here, sign here, here, date there."

Hater snatched the paper away and filled it in as asked with the pen on Peepers' desk. Peepers flinched slightly as Hater put the pen in his robe pocket and stood up.

"Don't make us regret this," he said. Peepers' eye widened for a second, until he realized that the 'us' referred to the Lord and Captain Tim, whose bed was riding on the success of the vassal program. Hater stormed out of the room, and soon all Peepers could hear was the distant sound of a throaty mantra from down the hall, punctuated with the occasional bark from His Crapness, Captain Tim.

How he hated Captain Tim.

Peepers turned back to the map and looked at the greatest concentration of minor planetoids. He found it soon enough. Mercifully for him, it was at his height, meaning no undignified search for the stepladder. Yes. The bottom-right of the galaxy. That would do just fine.

All he had to do now was gather his finest men. Or, at least, gather then men who'd agree to this scheme without laughing too much.

* * *

The shuttle wasn't quite as crowded as Sylvia had feared. In fact, it was almost pleasant. She didn't like traveling in others' conveyances. She was happier with her own legs, her own bubble, her own companion, taking things at their own pace. But they'd managed to secure a cabin to themselves, and it had a proper window, two comfortable beds – even a minibar that promised the finest of liquors and snacks. Admittedly, Sylvia had discreetly asked the ship staff to empty it prior to their arrival, thinking that Wander might get a bit too excited at the prospect of tasty goodness and fermented fun times.

But as she looked back at him, it was clear that nothing could be further from his mind.

They boarded the ship in silence. He undertook the security check with sullen reluctance. And no sooner had the door to their cabin opened than he had flopped down on his bed, arms crossed, glaring at the ceiling.

"I can't _believe_ her, Syl. Can you?"

Sylvia was unpacking some of their more affordable foodstuffs from Shuttle Pointe, mindful that they had two days on the ship and needed to save their credits. She'd been waiting for him to speak up, and had been working on a response for when he was ready to talk. She glanced over her shoulder at him. There he lay, still glaring at the ceiling, as if it was all its fault.

"Wander," she said tenderly. "I'm _sure_ she didn't mean anything by it. But you gotta understand, buddy: some people are, y'know, proud. And if they think someone's treatin' them like they can't take care of themselves… well, that can sting a bit. Do you see what I mean?"

"Hhmph," he puffed, rolling onto his side, facing the wall. "Just wanted to help her."

Sylvia rolled her eyes again. "Wander. You can't take it personally," she insisted. "You want to help people, right? I know you do. You're _really_ good at it. The best I ever knew, for sure." She looked at him closely, and saw the slightest shrug in his shoulders. "But it's like we talked about. You just need to pick your moments."

His shoulders shrugged again. And again. And again. _Oh my glorb,_ thought Sylvia. _Is he… is he crying?_

She'd crossed countless asteroid belts, bested thousands of enemies, battled kings, emperors, lords and princes of species unimaginable. But the thought of her best friend reduced to tears, and her unable to help, cut her more deeply than any peril of the past.


End file.
